


The (Nott) So Perfect Equation

by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns, Mrs_Colette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Happily Ever After, HermionesHaven, Light Angst, Marriage, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-War, RollAPartner, RollAPartner19, light humor, marriage law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/pseuds/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Colette/pseuds/Mrs_Colette
Summary: Life in post-war wizarding Britain is a struggle for both sides as so many lives were lost. In comes a new Wizengamot member's suggestion of a marriage law based on an Arithmancy calculation. Too bad Theodore Nott's idea does not go according to plan, leaving Hermione to wed a wizard she never would have anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the admins for a fun event!

It seemed like all of wizarding Britain under the age of twenty-seven was gathered in the Crooked Crone on the night of August 18th. It had started as a joke, with Blaise and Adrian planning a night to meet and get blazing drunk before unsealing the envelopes that would seal their fates. Harry had heard about it during their weekly pickup Quidditch game from Adrian and suggested they invite Seamus and Dean, who were also terrified of what their envelopes might hold. Seamus told Neville, Luna, and Padma at lunch in Hogsmeade, and Luna shared the news with Ginny and Hermione during tea. Despite herself, Hermione mentioned it to Draco at work on Thursday, and the gossipy git had hexed the masterminds for leaving him out, ensuring word spread quickly. By the time the Ministry owls were due to arrive, there were close to seventy witches and wizards crammed into the Crone.

Draco stumbled over to where Theo, Blaise, and Marcus were standing by the bar, throwing his arms around Theo and the dark Italian. 

“Why aren’t you as sloshed as the rest of us, Nott?”  Draco slurred, slightly drunk at the horror of what was to come.

“There is nothing we can do to change it now, Malfoy, so there is no reason to act like a petulant child over it. The Ministry has implemented the Act to help the Wizarding population. You know we are in a state of decline that could result in irreversible damage if left unchecked. We used Arithmancy to determine compatibility, and I have the utmost faith in the wizard who designed the algorithm,” Theo replied smugly, slightly disgusted at his friend's sloppy behavior.

“Spare us your swot routine, Theo,” Blaise groaned. “We've all heard your lectures and there isn't enough Firewhiskey in Britain to make me ever want to listen to all that shite again.”

Theo threw Blaise a two-fingered salute, laughing at what he recognized as truth in his friend's words. 

“Doesn't explain why you aren't nervous, Nott. You had full control over the creation of the equation, did ya rig the system?” Marcus asked, his words causing the others to brighten slightly. 

“Of course not,” he scoffed, a single bed of sweat trailing down his spine at the mistruth. He  _ did  _ rig the system, only it wasn’t for any of the buggers here at the bar. It took a simple solution, a simple rune change in the Arithmancy calculation, and everything was settled. It would take more than some Ministry restrictions to keep Theo from getting what he wanted. 

Rather,  _ who  _ he wanted. 

Theo shrugged Draco’s arm from his shoulder and perched his elbow on the bar counter. He listened to Adrian and Marcus prattle on the potential witches they’d be matched with and watched Draco practically shouting his opinions on the witches gathered with them in the bar like a buffoon. Blaise was silent, nursing his third drink with a thoughtful look on his face. Theo knew he was apprehensive for an entirely different reason. It was all utterly ridiculous; he was glad he’d done what he’d done. It was comforting to know he wouldn’t look like the other guys. 

“You lot about ready to reveal the names of your-our doomed spouses?” he asked, a small smirk on his face. “I believe you are finally inebriated enough to handle the news.” 

Marcus grunted, waving his hand dismissively. Theo was going to take that as a yes. 

Draco slapped his hand on the bar counter. “To the rest of our lives, gentle...men,” he declared, the slur in his words even more prominent. “May the...luckiest man win!”

Blaise snorted. “May you manage to stand for the next minute in order to open the envelope, mate,” the Italian replied, raising his glass with one hand and pulling out his watch from his blazer pocket with the other. 

The other men watched him open the cover, nodding to them before he glanced up to the open windows high in the peaks of the roof. As owls began to swoop in, Theo turned to Draco, who had his head tipped back, glass to his lips as he tried to get every last drop of gin from its crystal prison. Theo's hand snatched out, grabbing the glass, his patience with his fellow Slytherin's drunken antics wearing thin. Draco stumbled slightly, yelling, as the force of Theo's rough handling knocking the inebriated wizard off balance. 

His outburst drew the attention of several of those clustered nearby, and Terence Higgs reacted first, grinning widely, pulling Draco to him. 

“What's all that, then?” He asked, his arm tight around the Malfoy heir's shoulders, preventing him from lunging at Theo. “Oh!” He exclaimed, spotting the owls who were just beginning to enter the pub. 

There was a bit of confusion as owls began to dive amongst the crowd, trying to find their intended targets as the witches and wizards gathered there tried to intercept their letters. All told, it was easier than it looked, scarcely five minutes had passed before the owls had all departed, and a sense of foreboding filled the previously cheerful pub. 

“Excuse me,” a voice called out from the crowd, and almost as one, they turned, looking for the source of the voice. 

Hermione Granger stood alone, a glass of wine clutched in her hand. She was still dressed in her Ministry robes, her hair a barely contained mass of curls on top of her head. Theo chucked fondly as he spotted a quill nestled in the tangle. He was reminded of the first time they met as adults, the first time he had really seen her. She worked with Draco in the Department of International Cooperation, fighting for the rights of magical creatures across the globe. They had been, predictably, arguing over the wording of some treaty when Draco arrived for lunch, Hermione apparently so unwilling to concede that she followed him to lunch, and he had heard the pair before they spotted him. 

He had lifted his head to catch Draco's eye, and the breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her hair was piled in a haphazard bun, a quill holding it in place; an ink stain was visible on her nose. Sunshine streamed through the window of the restaurant, and she was bathed in a golden glow as she continued to bicker with Draco, her eyes flashing with passion. He had wondered then how she had escaped his notice. He had, embarrassingly enough, once considered her beneath him. Not in Malfoy's garish way, reminding her of it at every occasion, but simply by ignoring her very existence. 

He had welcomed the chance, that day, to become reacquainted with Hermione. She had joined them for lunch, optimistically hoping to continue to harangue Draco, but Theo had drawn her into the conversation instead, winking at his friend's grateful expression and letting him believe that he was simply doing so to save him the badgering. 

He had become enamored of her that day, finding that they had many shared interests, surprised to find that she could hold her own in a variety of topics. When Draco begged her to allow them to return to work, he had surprised himself by offering to continue the discussion later that week. Thus their friendship began, lunches filled with heated debate and exploration of topics that would've had his former housemates lost in a sea of confusion. 

Months flew by, his work in the Office of Magical Commerce was mentally stimulating but dreadfully dull. Their lunches and the occasional weekend symposium were a bright spot he sorely needed. They had moved from purely academic conversation into more personal topics. 

One weekend he arrived to pick her up for a potions lecture and found her slightly drunk, a wedding invitation in her hand. Ron was marrying Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, and although Hermione insisted she was happy for her friend, she admitted that she felt like she was being left behind. They had skipped the lecture, spending the night talking about their plans for the future and steadily drinking Muggle vodka. She never mentioned that night again, but it felt like a turning point for their unexpected friendship. 

He was sneaking in after a rather long lunch when he first heard the whispers of the outcome of that day's closed session of the Wizengamot. They had called the session after the release of the census his team had just completed, and his head spun as he listened to what they were discussing. A marriage law? He knew that the numbers were grim, but he didn't think it would come to this. It wasn't unprecedented, of course, after the Goblin Wars a similar act had passed, and that conflict had been far less devastating to the population than the aftermath of the Dark Lo–Voldemort's reign. 

His mind whirled with possibilities, only to have his blood run cold as they whispered that a moratorium had been placed on all new marriage licenses for any couple who had not been together at least a year. When he heard them say that they were going to revise the Arithmancy equation that had used to create those pairings years ago, he squared his shoulders and made his presence known. He was the best Arithmancer in the department, hands down, and he knew what he needed to do. 

Coming back to the present, he watched Hermione flush slightly under the weight of the eyes on her before taking a fortifying sip of her wine. 

“We are gathered here to mourn the loss of our personal freedom,” she said clearly, her eyes flashing with a familiar fire. “But it is my hope that we will also celebrate a new future, one that will rebuild our shared world, stronger than ever. I know that I had other dreams for my future, and I will mourn the opportunity that was taken from me.”

She cast her eyes around the room before meeting Theo's eyes, a wistful smile playing at her lips. “However, this is presented as a new opportunity that we as a community can adapt and strive through. It is up to  _ us _ to guide the next generations and show them our fortitude is elevated when we’re united together.” 

Hermione raised her glass, lifting her chin as her previous fluster on her cheeks had faded. “To adapting and guiding the future.”

Several witches and wizards murmured in agreement and raised their glasses as well. A collective sound of cheers resonated throughout the room and Theo couldn’t help but smirk as he lifted his glass as well as with a tip of his head. Magnificent. And  _ his _ . 

The crowd meshed together again, everyone going their separate ways in order to open the letters delivered to them. Theo turned his letter over in his hands as he walked back towards the other men. It would be satisfying to rub his match in their faces after all the grievance they’d put him through tonight. 

The first thing he noticed was Marcus. The wizard who had consistently ribbing Theo, outside of Malfoy himself, was staring at his letter with an unreadable expression on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione choked on her tea, eyes wide as she stared at Luna. Ginny was holding her sides, her laughter ringing loud in the now almost cheerful sitting room at Grimmauld Place. Luna hummed to herself as she looked over the sandwiches Kreacher had set out, oblivious to the reaction to her news. 

“A party?” Hermione rasped, dabbing her chin with a napkin. “Honestly, that is the most ridiculous…”

“I'll be there,” Luna interrupted airily, having selected a radish sandwich, pulling apart the dark pumpernickel bread and adding some pansy blossoms from the crystal vase. Replacing the bread and taking a bite, she continued, “Such an event will be full of stress and anxiety, and it will be a wonderful opportunity to study the Sneaking Swallows. I haven't had much chance since Hogwarts.”

Ginny wiped a tear from her eye and handed James to Hermione before the witch could respond to Luna's statement, knowing her friend well. 

“I think it sounds wonderful,” Ginny managed, with only a single giggle escaping. “An evening filled full of camaraderie and new beginnings.”

“Your mommy is a fibber,” Hermione sing-songed to baby James, a wide smile breaking our across her face when he giggled and grabbed at her hair. “A great big fibber who is relieved to be an old married fuddy-duddy.”

“No name calling,” Ginny admonished, tossing a nappy at Hermione. She saw the tightness in Hermione's shoulders, even as she tightened her grip on a suddenly drowsy James, and she thought she knew why. 

“What does Theo think about all this?” She asked, gently, unsure of the response she would receive. The two had been dancing around each other for months, but she had been sure one of them would've taken the erumpet by the horn by now.

Hermione bit her lip, not taking her eyes from the top of James’ head, her godson burrowing on her chest sleepily. 

“It has been a pleasant diversion for him,” Hermione began, her voice low as she tried to avoid disturbing James. “As you know, his department is in charge of updating the Arithmancy equation from its previous version to something more suited for today. They not only need to create an equation that should match together those of opposing social classes and lineage, but also factor for the independence we have now. It's a very tricky thing, and I don't envy him on the task. He seemed deadlocked for awhile there, however, he says he has had a breakthrough and is sure they will make the deadline.”

“Do you think Theo knows how spiders avoid being tangled in their own silk?” Luna asked, an orb-weaver spider hanging from her finger. “It must be a tricky thing, balancing on a thin hair and constantly moving to avoid being caught in their own trap.”

“For Merlin's sake, Luna, put that outside! James is putting everything in his mouth right now and Harry would kill me if I somehow managed to let our son eat a spider,” Ginny groaned, rising from her chair and shooing Luna through the kitchen.

As the witches made their way out, Hermione thought about what Ginny had been trying to suss out. While the concept of the law had her mad enough to scream when she first heard about it, after a lot of thought she found that she didn't mind the intent behind the legislation. 

The population was at risk, with the victory six years ago having a more reckless effect on the survivors’ decisions. Most of her peers were living single and carefree lives, throwing themselves into their careers–and pleasure–with abandon. Without some serious intervention, it could spell disaster. 

What continued to bother her about the law was the fact that there was no option. If anyone knew Hermione, they knew she liked to have options in case something went amiss. In this case, there were no choices, only the name that was plucked from the equation. While she had implicit trust in Theo's abilities, it was absolutely infuriating. 

Though, the thought of who she wished she could have chosen herself lingered in her mind. It wasn't something she had thought about before the law had passed, however, she would be lying if she claimed it hadn't been a pleasant daydream in the months since. She had grown close to Theo, but the feelings that she felt fluttering in her belly when she thought of him now were fleeting. She bit her lip thinking about it. It wasn’t fair to have that chance stripped from her, but it wouldn’t be the first time she was thrust between a rock and a hard place. 

With a sigh, Hermione shook her head and tried to think about something less disheartening. There  _ was  _ the party Luna mentioned…She smiled to herself as she snuggled James closer, focusing on the warm weight of her godson in her arms, deciding to relish the silence left in the wake of the other women.

* * *

 

Following her impromptu speech, Hermione could hear envelopes all around the crowded room opening. Catching Theo's eye again, she smiled at his bright expression before taking another sip of her wine. Lifting her own envelope, she broke the wax seal and began to open it.  Before she could remove it to read the name inside, she heard a shout by the bar.

“ _ Katie Bell _ ?!” Theo's voice carried across the bar, and heads whipped toward the sound. 

Theo was staring at the letter in his hand, his handsome face red and ugly with rage. He shook the letter and practically roared, his housemates looking at the typically meek wizard in shock. Blaise stepped toward his friend, trying to calm him down. Shaking her head, slightly confused by the reaction, Hermione's attention was caught by Marcus Flint, the broad wizard was staring at her, letter in hand, a pained look on his face.

Remembering her own letter, she pulled the paper out of the envelope, taking a moment to actually read it before jumping straight to the name in vibrant blue ink at the bottom.

_ Dear Ms. Granger, _

_ Based upon the findings of the census conducted by the Office of Commerce, it is the belief of the Ministry of Magic that the population of Great Britain is at risk of collapse. Therefore, by order of the Wizengamot, Matrimonial Decree No. 2, and by way of an advanced Arithmancy formula created by the Office of Probability, a subdivision of the Office of Magical Commerce, you have been matched with the witch or wizard who is best suited to your temperament, magical ability, and sexual preference. _

_ Following the breaking of the magical seal on this envelope, you have 60 (sixty) days to comply with the ruling and give your consent to be bound to the partner listed below. Appeals to the match will be heard by the Wizengamot after a probationary period of 2 (two) weeks, if both parties agree, and partners will be reselected from those who have also been awarded an appeal. If no match is available, there shall be a fine of 15,000 galleons, paid to the Ministry of Magic general fund.  _

_ Heterosexual couples are required to make every possible attempt to achieve pregnancy within 2 (two) years, and any couple requiring assistance shall be treated, free of charge, at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies. All couples achieving pregnancy shall receive a monthly stipend, in the amount of 250 galleons, per child, per month, to help with the costs associated with raising a family. Same sex couples, as well as those unable to achieve pregnancy after the predetermined time frame, shall be required to pay a yearly stipend, also to the Ministry of Magic general fund, in an amount to be be determined based on combined income.  _

_ We at the Office of Births, Bonds, and Deaths wish you a blessed union, and look forward to filing your new bond. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Arabella Newcastle _

**_Hermione Jean Granger_ **

_ matched to _

**_Marcus Albrecht Flint_ **

Hermione felt the color leave her face as she read the name at the bottom of the letter. Due to the nature of the law, she had anticipated a Slytherin, and due to her not-so-significant potential, she knew it would be someone she was familiar with. 

Marcus Flint was never a possibility she had considered, even remotely. Taking an undignified gulp of her wine, she peeked over at Marcus again, feeling oddly relieved by the still pale color in his face. He was preoccupied by the still distraught Theo, so she took a step back into a shadow and forced herself to assess his features. The first thing she sought out was his teeth, as the jumbled mess that she remembered was, frankly, horrifying. She felt a rush of guilt wash over her at the relief she experienced when she saw a now perfectly even, nicely white row of teeth peeking out as he spoke to Theo. 

He had also shed his thuggish air, due in part to the several inches he seemed to have grown since her last memory of him, pushing past her in the library her Sixth Year. He seemed subdued, a trait many of the Slytherins now seemed to have in common, but other than knowing he was employed in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and that his father was awaiting the Dementor's Kiss– _ ’Another trait now common to most Slytherins,’ _ she thought meanly–she knew nothing else about the man she would be marrying in two months time. 

Hermione took a moment to glance around the room again, feeling a smile steal across her face as she saw most of the occupants talking quietly in pairs, and she could sense a cautious optimism in the air. She was so absorbed in her people watching that she failed to notice the wizard materializing at her right side. Gasping, she spun, putting her back to the wall while she drew her wand. Eyes widening when she saw Marcus standing there, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment at nearly hexing her new fiance. 

“Oh, um, hello,” she stammered, tucking her wand back in its holster with a gesture that spoke of her familiarity with the task. “I'm sorry, I still don't do well when startled.”

Marcus said nothing, nodding at her apology, his dark eyes intense on her. Feeling slightly uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she shook out her shoulders and decided to do this properly.

“I'm Hermione,” she began unnecessarily, extending her hand to him, feeling the blush creep up her cheeks again at the foolishness of her words. “But you know that, of course, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you? I'm sorry, it's the wine, I think, I hardly ever drink, but given the occasion I felt it appropriate.”

When Marcus still said nothing, simply continuing to study her with dark, piercing eyes, Hermione felt her heart rate quicken; to her mortification her mouth continued its rambling, her brain seeming to have taken leave of her altogether.

“I'm quite surprised we were matched together, with your predilection for all things Quidditch and myself quite preferring knowledge to sports. Not that you aren't intelligent, I'm sure you are! Forgive me, that came out wrong. I just mean that I had been certain it would be Theo, or, Merlin save me, Draco, or I suppose even Blaise–”

She stopped the moment the name came out, and they both turned to where the dark Italian wizard was smirking as Anthony whispered in his ear. Hermione jumped when Marcus began to laugh, a deep rich sound that warmed her stomach and made her lips turn up as well. 

“No, not Blaise then,” she smiled, turning back to Marcus. Just then she realized she still had her hand extended toward him like a ninny, but before she could lower it, he took her hand–had it always been so small?–in his and lifted it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to her knuckles, he met her eyes and smiled, eyes crinkling slightly.

“Marcus Flint. A pleasure.”

His voice was unexpected, predictably deep, but with a warmth she didn't anticipate. It reminded her of the way a mug of pumpkin cider felt in her hands on an autumn day, or how the sun warmed her skin after a long winter. She blushed again and lowered her eyes from his when he released her hand. 

“I’m pleased to meet you too, Marcus,” she said simply, toying with the stem of her wine glass. “You work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, correct?”

The wizard nodded, taking a drink of a dark liquid before replying. “I’m the Head of the International Games committee. We’re beginning to plan the next Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, surprised. “I imagine we will be working together then. I’m an Undersecretary in the Department of International Cooperation, specializing in Creature Rights. Where will the tournament be held this year?”

“Anywhere but Hogwarts, preferably,” Marcus replied, grimacing. “McGonagall wants to 'restore the honor of our fine institution’, but it’d mean loads more paperwork for me.”

Hermione laughed, knowing from experience just how much parchment international transactions generated when a thought struck her.

“Which creatures will be used this time?” She asked carefully, her eyes narrowing.

“Depends on the location. Word has it Beauxbatons wants to use a chimaera.” Marcus shrugged nonchalantly.

“Those are class XXXXX beasts!” Hermione exclaimed with a horrified expression. 

“Precisely,” Marcus answered before chuckling. “Though, my French counterpart hates paperwork too.”

* * *

 

The sun beamed through Hermione’s curtains, waking the curly-haired witch from her slumber. She sat up with a soft groan, scratching her scalp as she yawned. Her eyes slowly drifted towards the calendar she had posted on the wall next to her nightstand, and she took note of the large circle on the day’s date. 

It’d been four weeks since she found out who her match was, and they agreed that he would be moving into her place once he finished the initial business regarding the tournament before her department would be involved. 

To say she was thankful for the smooth arrangement would be an understatement. Hermione had grown rather fond of her home, and she wouldn’t stand being forced into someone else’s. Fortunately, during one of their newfound routine dinners, she learned that Marcus had been living with Blaise and would rather stay anywhere other than that circus–nor could he handle the frequent sight of his friend getting more ‘acquainted’ with his match in the corridors. 

She shook her head away from her thoughts before she spaced out completely; Marcus would be there any minute with his things, and she had to have everything prepared for his arrival. They had shared their first few sweet kisses two weeks before, after she had taken him to dinner at her favorite Indian cafe in Muggle London. 

He had been noticeably uncomfortable but behaved admirably despite his unease. They had chosen to get ice cream at Fortescue's afterward. When he had looked at her, a bright pink spot of raspberry sorbet on his nose, she snickered and leaned in to wipe it off for him. She had to stand up to lean over the table, and the gesture had brought them nose to nose. 

Her breath hitched, and he surprised her, leaning in to catch her lips with his. It had been enlightening; the butterflies in her belly take flight for the first time since Theo. They continued to dabble in the physical side of their relationship, and Hermione had been pleased to find that in that aspect, at least, they were quite well matched.

She finally got out of bed and grabbed the dark robe strewn on the chair near the door. Making her way down the hall, Hermione started biting her lip again. The butterflies she felt for Theo had begun to be replaced with knots that seemed to tighten every time their paths crossed in the Ministry. 

Theo had been... unpredictable since that night at the Crone, alternating between friendly and waspish; her head ached just contemplating his mood swings. To the best of her knowledge, he refused to acknowledge Katie, and her fellow Gryffindor was devastated by the snub. 

Stepping into the living room and beginning to mindlessly tidy up, she thought of her last interaction with Theo earlier that week. The wizard obviously wasn't well; he had circles under his eyes as black as the Norse with his name. He was bedraggled, his hands covered in smudged ink, and Hermione shamefully ducked into an alcove in the Ministry cafeteria to avoid him. She watched as he entered the loo, and she took the opportunity to slip into the lunch queue. 

She was making small talk with Maggie Negan, a witch in the Portkey office, telling her about Marcus cancelling their plans last minute; Drumstrang's headmaster refused to publicly disclose the school’s location, thus terminating the offer to host the tournament. Hogwarts would again play host, undoing weeks of Marcus’ careful scheming.

“I would never chose my work over you, Hermione,” came a raspy voice over her left shoulder. 

Gasping, Hermione turned, her eyes narrowing when she saw Theo standing there with his eyes trained on her.

“He didn't have a choice, Theo. It's not as if they can make that decision without their Head’s approval, can they? He apologized and I’ve forgiven him. I’m sure it’ll happen the other way around more often than not once we are married.” 

As soon as she said ‘married’, Theo's eyes darkened. Beside her, Maggie reached for her wand; Theo's mood swings now infamous around the Ministry.

“So quick to forgive,  _ Granger _ ?” He practically spat her surname, and Hermione felt a chill race down her spine. “A pureblood department head’s what it takes to wet your knickers?”

“Marcus has been  _ respectful _ and worked hard to get to where he is now,” Hermione snapped, amazed by her quick defense for Marcus. “He has other priorities, and I would never want him to shirk his responsibility to attend some lecture with me.”

“I would've gone with you,” Theo pressed, his instant shift back to pleasantry caused Hermione's head to spin and her defenses to rise. “Don't you remember all the nights we spent discussing theories? The days we toured the museums? We could have that again,” he said silkily, a twisted smile on his lips. 

“Maybe you should ask Katie,” Hermione retorted, her patience wearing thin. “She is a Curse Breaker. I’m sure she would enjoy discussing the new translation of Magwain's Theorem with you.”

“It wasn't supposed to be Katie,” Theo said, sinking into himself. Hermione's heart softened toward him as she saw how broken he looked. She reached out for him, resting it lightly on the sleeve of his robes. 

“There’s nothing we can do, Theo. At first, I was furious, but I have the highest faith in the magic that brought us together. How could I not, knowing you created the algorithm? Admittedly, I didn't see what paired me and Marcus initially; we’re completely different. However, I’m starting to realize that maybe he’s what I needed all along. It would be lovely to spend my evenings in fervent debates about the uses of Everblooming Iris. Even so, I find comfort in his quiet company.”

Theo grabbed her hand from his sleeve and compressed it in his so hard that she cried out, tears gathering in her eyes. Maggie shoved Theo so heavily that the shock of the assault must have snapped him out of his stupor. 

“This isn't over,” he muttered supposedly more to himself than either of the witches standing there confused, before striding out of the cafeteria.

Hermione flexed her fingers subconsciously, wincing slightly at the lingering sting when the sound of the doorbell made her jump. Smiling at Marcus' manners, she headed for the door and checked her reflection as she went. 

 

* * *

 

Their first week of cohabitation went as smoothly as it could be for two practical strangers who were marrying in a month’s time. Then they had their first argument–a mostly one-sided conversation about where to store Marcus's brooms, which would've resolved itself quite  _ quickly  _ had Marcus made any attempt to participate. 

The 'strong and silent’ act drove Hermione right around the bend when he simply shrugged off her opinion and swished his wand to move them back to the hall closet. Without hesitation, Hermione drew her wand and sent them back to the shed. Marcus found his voice then, saying something along the lines of  _ her  _ being difficult. The ensuing argument was prolific. 

Hermione found herself shouting that his 'headstrong, spoiled pureblood ways’ of handling the whereabouts of  _ bloody brooms _ was immature, but she stopped herself from finishing it, embarrassed by the hypocrisy in her words. 

Marcus shocked her by laughing that deep laugh of his, drawing her into an embrace. 

“First disagreement, check,” he whispered huskily into her ear, the timbre making her shiver involuntarily. “Can we make up now?”

While it hadn't been a very serious fight, due to Marcus’ upbringing he felt he needed to make amends, and as the recipient of Marcus' determination to see every task through to a  _ very satisfying _ completion, she wasn't going to complain. That night they shared her bed for the first time, and they had been growing steadily closer since. 

In the following week, Hermione was sorting out the study as she waited for Ginny to arrive. They were going to shop for her wedding robes. The redhead insisted they meet here to ensure that Hermione wouldn't slip off and shop without her. Hermione wanted sensible; Ginny strongly disagreed.  

Straightening the papers on the desk she shared with Marcus, Hermione had a sudden thought concerning Theo. After their last encounter, she shouldn’t, yet Hermione couldn’t help but worry for her friend...or was it associate now? 

There had to be an explanation for the behavioral transition; all Hermione had to do was figure it out before something horrendous blew up in his face.  

Her mind worked in the strangest ways–she refused to believe it was a mere coincidence–as the simple act of tucking Marcus's notes on how to catch the wizards who had been rigging Quidditch matches caught her eye and aligned all the pieces in her brain. 

She stumbled slightly, hand grasping in the air for the chair before sitting down with a thud.  _ ‘Theo manipulated the equation.’ _ It made sense; his abnormal reaction when his match was revealed, the extensive amount of time it took him to create the formula. Marcus told her about Theo’s oddly calm demeanor before their letters were opened, and the mood swings and erratic behavior the past weeks confirmed her suspicion. 

_ ‘He rigged the runes to ensure we would be matched!’ _ Hermione couldn't breathe, a familiar tightness in her chest indicating the start of a panic attack. Immediately following it, the chime of the Floo was heard, accompanied by her friend's cheerful voice.

“Honey, I'm home!” Ginny called, the smile evident in her tone. “I hope you're ready to shop 'til we drop because Harry has James allll day.”

Hermione tried to answer but to no avail. She could only hear her heart hammering in her chest, Marcus' notes crumpling in her hand. Her vision became unfocused just as Ginny appeared in the doorway.

“Oh no, you don't. No excuses,” Ginny declared, coming into the room. “A woman only gets one chance to shop for her wedding dr–”

Ginny stopped talking as it was  Hermione was having a panic attack. The group had them in the years following the Battle, so they all had practice recognizing the symptoms. Crossing the room quickly, she knelt before Hermione, placing a gentle hand on her knee. 

“Breathe, Hermione, in through your nose and out through your mouth. That's it...good. Let's count, ok? Can you name five things you can see? I can see a desk, a lamp, a godawful rug–please tell me this belonged to Marcus and you're too nice to tell him to bin it–a book with red binding and your quill. How about four things we can touch? I can touch your hand, the silk of your skirt, my hair as it falls in my face, and the crispness of this parchment.” Ginny took Marcus' notes from Hermione and set them back on the desk, coming back to Hermione’s side swiftly. 

“Your turn, 'Mione,” she encouraged as she saw the brunette’s breathing returning to normal. “How about three things you can hear?”

Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop shaking. 

“I can hear the birds in the willow tree, children playing in the Throbard's yard, and Merlin, Ginny, is that your stomach?”

Ginny chuckled lowly and straightened up, wiping her slightly sweaty hands on her denims. They typically left these attacks unacknowledged, a tacit agreement that had never been verbalized, but Ginny would want to know what had triggered it. 

“Yes, I was too scared Harry would change his mind if I stayed home for lunch. What's wrong, Hermione? It's been years. If Marcus…”

Hermione stopped her before she could continue. 

“It's Theo,” she said, horror rising again as she thought of his manipulation. 

Ginny's face softened, misreading the situation. “I know, I thought you guys had a chance too. Why the anxiety now? You said you trusted the magic behind the Arithmancy and you've been so happy this past month and a half.” 

“He rigged it, Ginny. That's why it took him so long to complete the equation and was so upset that night. It does explain the oddities of the pairings, however. Draco should've never been matched with Astoria; the restrictions the Ministry placed on the runes should've prevented it. He must've figured out a loophole and attempted to secure a future with me. That's why he has been so out of character these past weeks. Ginny, what am I going to do?”

“Nothing at all,” the witch said calmly, pulling the startled witch from her chair. “No, wait. You are going to buy a beautifully impractical set of wedding robes, treat your amazing friend to lunch, and marry your neanderthal in two weeks. Maybe we will buy a new rug too, hmm? It can be my housewarming gift to Flint.”

“Ginny, I can't! The equation!” Hermione stammered, distraught at the truth she had unwittingly revealed. 

“You can, Hermione, and you will,” Ginny said in a tone eerily reminiscent of Molly, her hands on her hips to match. “Do you know how many appeals have been filed in the wake of this law? None. Not a single witch or wizard have had any objections during the probationary period. Maybe these unions aren't blessed by Morgana and all the fey, but people are happy! Despite his manipulation, everyone is winning. The Ministry gets results, our rabble-rousing settles down, and the wizarding world is saved once again. Can we go to that Muggle Thai place for lunch? The one with the amazing rolls?”

Hermione shook her head and dug her feet in as Ginny tried to drag her from the study. 

“You know the penalty for refusing a second match,” the brunette exclaimed. “That fine is astronomical! What if people are simply afraid to take their chances a second time? Theo can't get away with this, Ginny, he is meddling with people's lives!”

Ginny tutted, shaking her head with a sigh. “Ok, Miss Brightest Witch of Her Age, let's approach this logically. What proof do you have that Theo manipulated the equation?” The red-headed witch opened her hands at her sides. “How will you convince a smug Wizengamot to reverse a successful ‘against all odds’ law? Are you so eager to throw away the happiness you have found with Marcus that you will crusade against it?” 

She laughed immediately afterward, causing Hermione to glare at her. “I can make you buttons, if you like. It's S.P.E.W. all over again,” Ginny continued, tilting her head in a thoughtful manner and tapping her chin. “Hermione Granger, championing for those who didn't ask for her help and are quite happy with things just as they are.”

Hermione chuckled then, inwardly pleased that Ginny got the name of her former movement correct. 

“I suppose you're right,” she replied to Ginny. “I could send Theo an anonymous letter with my suspicions, telling him that if he doesn't at least attempt to make it work with Katie I'll go to the  _ Prophet  _ with what I know. Rita owes me.”

Pleased with her plan, Hermione headed to the hall closet for her cloak, groaning in frustration as Marcus’ brooms clattered to the floor.

“That's a handy spot,” Ginny commented, helping Hermione stack them back in the closet. “Harry makes me keep ours out back.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and sniffed indignantly at the redhead as they made their way outside.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the conversation supposedly ending at her home, Hermione was still in a large bundle of aggravated, tightened knots over the revelation. Ginny, however, was not having it.

“It's a good plan, Hermione,” Ginny remarked while they browsed the racks at Madame Malkins. “It’ll be the wakeup call Theo needs to finally accept reality of his own screwup. What about this one?” She pulled a beautiful set of ivory dress robes from the rack, the subtle silver embroidery catching the light when she held it up. 

Ginny read the tag as Hermione studied the robes. “It comes with your choice of underlining; midnight blue, gold or crimson.”

“Hmm,” the brunette mused. “Is crimson too Gryffindor?” She pulled the robes toward her body, knowing that these were the one without even trying it on. 

“Not for you,” Ginny replied simply, heading over to look at shoes.

Hermione frowned, throwing Ginny a questionable look. Surely her taste in robes wasn’t that horrible.  

“You're Gryffindor's princess, Hermione. Anything less simply isn't done,” Ginny teased, a grin on her face. 

Hermione laughed as she made her way to the fitting room, waved Ginny’s comment off easily, and changed into the robes. After doing so, Hermione called for the attendant to charm the underlining red before stepping out. 

Ginny gasped as she took in Hermione’s look. The robes accentuated her slender form, highlighting the flush in her cheeks. Her hair was impossible, but the look Hermione was giving her told her that it didn't matter.

“Perfect,” she said softly, reaching into her pocket–she must have used an Extension Charm–and pulling out a velvet box. 

“What is that?” Hermione questioned, her brows furrowing curiously.

“A gift from your neanderthal,” Ginny replied innocently, opening the box. “Almost forgot I had it.”

Hermione’s lips parted slightly as her breath hitched at the contents of the box. Nestled inside was a tiara, a simple band of braided silver, interspersed with rubies and green peridot. 

“It was his mother's, and hers before that,” Ginny explained, a smile on her face. “Every Flint bride has worn them on her wedding day for the last century. It's Goblin silver, like Auntie Muriel's.”

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes as she removed the tiara, the attendant appearing out of nowhere to charm her curls into a loose updo and stick the tiara in place with a wave of her wand. 

“Now you really look like a princess, 'Mione,” Ginny smiled, her eyes glossy. 

Turning to look at her reflection, Hermione couldn’t help but agree, barely recognizing herself in the charmed mirror. Her reflection spun and primped, giving her a full view of how she looked in the robes.

“I  _ feel  _ like a princess,” Hermione said, overcome with emotion at Marcus gift to her. 

“All you need now is a dragon for Marcus to defeat,” Ginny said in a casual yet mocking tone, stepping forward to straighten her skirt. 

“Or a rival prince,” Hermione murmured, her thoughts drifting back to the knowledge she was unfortunately privy to. 

 

* * *

 

Their simple ceremony was being held at a cathedral in Westminster. Hermione was standing in one of the rooms reserved for teaching the younger children, struggling to get her emotions under control. Ginny had left moments ago after spotting Marcus and the boys struggling to set up the apse. 

She’d given Hermione a small bouquet of purple peonies and white baby’s-breath–flowers they had chosen during the afternoon tea that had served as her Hen 'Do with Molly’s help–as well as a quick kiss on the cheek for good luck before leaving. The fragrant bouquet was gripped tightly in Hermione’s hands. 

Her skin tingled as she tried calming herself for the final time, attempting to loosen the hold on the bouquet stems. This was it. She was going to walk down that aisle, stand next to Marcus, and take his last name. She would do this with confidence, with pride, with her friends and family… _ no _ . 

Hermione would not think about her parents, what could've been, or anything else negative. What’s done was done, and there was no turning back. There was logic in that; she clung to it like Ronald to a lamppost at the sight of a spider. 

The door behind her opened, and she turned to see who it was.

“You look beautiful, ‘Mione,” Ron breathed, a wide smile breaking across his face.

He and Harry stood in the doorway, and Hermione's felt relief and happiness wash over her. They were reminders of the good times, the boost she needed to fight the desolation she felt at her parents' absence. She opened her arms, striding towards them to share one of their unique three-way hugs. 

“I can't stay. Gabby is having the worst morning sickness. I'll be there when you get to the altar, skulking somewhere in the back,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mum says it won't last much longer, but I hate seeing her like this.”

Hermione laughed, giving Ron an extra squeeze. 

“Find Marcus, he has some cooling drops. Place some on the back of her neck. It should give her some relief,” she advised, knowing that the old Quidditch injuries Marcus still nursed meant that he always had the potion on him.

“Brillant,” Ron said, leaning down to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Always knew I liked him.”

Harry and Hermione broke out into soft snorts at the blatant lie as their tall friend hurried from the room, his calls for Marcus echoing in the corridor. 

“Hermione, I'm going to ask you what someone very wise asked me on my wedding day. Are you sure about this? I still have the tent right here.” Harry held up her old beaded bag, and Hermione sniggered, recalling her words to Harry. 

“I believe I continued by warning you that no spell could hide you from Ginny or me and that you needed to get your scrawny arse down that aisle,” she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him childishly.

“Well, I’m an Auror, and I'd have Ginny's help too. She's grown rather fond of your neanderthal,” Harry responded with a grinned, pulling her in for another hug.

“Not you too,” Hermione huffed–even as she relaxed in Harry’s embrace–not pleased with Ginny's nickname for Marcus. 

“I'm sorry that your parents aren't here,” Harry said quietly in Hermione’s ear as the witch tried to hold it together.  

Her parents were still tucked away in Australia with no memory of their daughter or the Wizarding World. The Ministry had assigned them a handler just in case the memory charm ever showed signs of breaking as the Healer said it could cause them irreparable harm if it was lifted now. 

Marcus amazed Hermione with a trip to see them last weekend, and she felt a strange sense of closure watching them walk a dog with impossibly shaggy brown fur down the streets of Brisbane. The love her parents shared was still evident on their faces when they looked at each other. 

She and Marcus had lunch at a cafe near her parents’ dental practice, and he surprised her by opening up about his own parents; the father he resented, and the mother he loved desperately.

His mother passed away during his Sixth Year. She’d never seen him talk so animatedly; that conversation cemented the emotional connection they had been building over the course of seven weeks. 

Hermione still yearned for her parents to be at the wedding. She wanted to hear her mother's thoughts on her robes and have her father walk her down the aisle. 

Harry looked at her knowingly, having experienced all the same emotions during a quiet moment before his own ceremony. 

“The ones we love never truly leave us, 'Mione,” he said, repeating his godfather's words to her. 

A moment later the clock on the wall chimed the quarter hour, so Harry pulled her in for a final hug. 

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione said, beaming at him, her eyes wet with tears. She could do this.  Against all odds she  _ wanted  _ to do this. 

“I'm marrying Marcus today,” she stated, a sense of finality in her words. The words held encouragement that once was lost in her melancholia.

“Yes you are,” Harry replied on his way out the door. “He does know he has to talk during the ceremony, right?”

Hermione swished her wand in his direction, her Stinging Hex finding its mark–judging by the sharp yelp–before Harry could close the door behind him.

She turned to look out the window, mulling over the last couple of weeks. Her life was like a snow globe, shaken up but thankfully settling again. She picked her bouquet up from the low table she’d set it on when Harry and Ron arrived and willed the newly accustomed butterflies in her belly to settle. She was ready to marry Marcus. 

She heard the door open again and without turning said, “Is everything ready, Harry?”

“Not yet, but everything will be alright soon,” crooned a voice behind her. 

Her first instinct was to reach for her wand, but a hand gripped her elbow and forced her to spin, drop her bouquet, and face the culprit. It was Theo.  _ ‘Oh, no _ .’ The strength of his hold caused Hermione to cry out in pain and bend forward. She saw fire blazing in his eyes, his unkempt hair and rumpled clothes. The foul scent of alcohol filled her nose, and she couldn’t help but grimace. 

“How did you get here?” she grunted out, trying to fight and wiggle out of his clutches. They didn’t disclose the location of the ceremony to anyone, citing a desire for privacy, and the choice of a Muggle venue had reassured Hermione. 

“You’re well aware that working for the Ministry has its advantages,” he replied, his head tilting with an eerie, lopsided grin. “All it took was choosing the right person to question.” 

Hermione shook her head to shrug off the dread that was rapidly replacing the joy she felt just moments before. She opened her mouth to scream when Theo's wand whipped toward the door.

“ _ Muffliato _ ,” he cast, ensuring that no one would he able to hear her cries for help. She kicked out, catching him in the shin. When Theo released her to reach for his shin, she bolted for the door; but he was quicker than she anticipated. They struggled for a few minutes before he knocked her legs out from under her, forcing her to the ground. He used his body weight to keep her pressed to the floor, his hands pinning her arms over her head. 

“Let me go, Theo!” she demanded, fear beginning to creep like cold wash falling down her back. “This is all your doing, so you can’t blame anyone but yourself for tampering with the equation!” 

Hermione tried breaking away from him, but his grip only tightened, causing her to flash back to being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor; her body cramping with the phantom pains of the  _ Cruciatus _ . 

His brows rose incredulously, his eyes wild. “I did this for us.  _ For us! _ We were supposed to be together, but you’re so willing to toss it in the garbage for  _ Flint _ .” Theo spat out the surname of his former friend like it was poison. 

Her breathing quickened as her mind kicked into overdrive. Her wand. She needed her wand. It was lying on the desk, with the letter Marcus had sent over with Ginny earlier that afternoon. She felt a lump in her chest grow as Theo murmured to her, his breath rank as he babbled in her ear. Everything would be fine; she would figure something out. 

The rising pain in her chest told her differently. 

“Theodore…” she trailed off. Her voice was meant to come out strong; she only heard the whimpers from the pressure that was building in her head. 

“So it’s Theodore is it, Hermione?” Theo taunted with a low growl, a threatening gleam in his angry eyes. “I told you that this wasn’t over. You're mine.” 

He released one of her hands to reach for her neck, his nails digging in her skin. Hermione whimpered at the sharp pain. Theo smiled, misinterpreting the sounds she was making. “Do you like that, Hermione? We are perfect for each other, don't you see? You always said you wanted a husband who could challenge you, help you to see the world in a new way. Marcus can't do that for you. Only I can, only me...” 

Theo leaned down, and all rational thought left her. She couldn't feel her legs, and the pain in her chest was replaced by tight bands of steel, preventing her from taking a breath at all. Her vision began to lose its focus, and the last thing her vision saw clearly was Theo with his lips puckered. 

“ _ Stupefy! _ ”

The world was spinning in slow motion. Hermione could feel Theo being thrown from her, hear a loud crack like wood breaking and a hard thud hitting the floor thrice through the rapid, loud beating of her heart. Her throat felt like it was ready to close in, causing her to claw at the neckline of her robes. She gasped harder for breath, hoping for a scream that never came when a dark figure loomed over her. Her vision was already disfigured, so there was no way for her to deduce their identity.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks when she felt cool hands holding her wrists. Her body was being pulled towards the figure, but her body refused to react defensively. She still couldn’t breathe. 

That’s when she heard it. The softest yet firmest deep voice whispered in her ear. The drumming of her heart was fading. 

“Breathe, Hermione,” he said. “Breathe through your nose, princess, and release from your mouth.” 

The uneasy feeling that constricted her throat relented, her fingers touched rough skin from the back of his hand. He released her wrists and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling Hermione completely into a hug. He began talking her through the centering exercises he could only have learned from Ginny; continuing to speak in his deep comforting tone about what he could see, her vision clearing at his words. He stroked her face, her hair, her robes as he talked about what he could feel, the numbness in her limbs subsiding. He spoke about what he could hear, and Hermione became aware of Harry's voice in the hallway, his tone commanding as he directed his fellow Aurors who seemingly appeared for his call. 

“Your turn, princess. Count two things you can smell,” he told her.  

She could smell the peony from her ruined bouquet, crushed under Theo's boot on the floor, and petrichor, a smell only one person in her life wore as of late. Marcus. She clung to him but still wasn’t able to speak. 

“Come back to me Hermione. How about one thing you can taste?” he continued, one of his hands resting on the back of her neck. She turned her head from where it was nestled into his neck and brushed her lips against his jaw, leaving a trail of light kisses until she reached his lips. He remained still during her tentative exploration, her kisses and his patience equivalent to the sedative traits of a lullaby, relieving her of the remnants of panic that seized her body. She relaxed in his arms, wrapping her arm around his neck and kissing him firmly.  

No words were exchanged in the moment of the kiss. It only lasted for a few seconds, but to her, it felt like a lifetime. Hermione pulled away, her eyes opening to find Marcus staring at her. His expression appeared neutral, but she saw it in his eyes; concern. 

“You,” Hermione answered feebly. “You’re one thing I taste.” 

She slumped on his chest, her hand pressed against it gingerly. “You’re not supposed to see me.” 

Marcus continued holding the brunette, faintly rocking her in his arms. “Hm?” he hummed. 

Hermione giggled softly, glancing ahead at a wall. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” 

He snorted, shaking his head. “ _ This _ is bad luck?” He asked, looking pointed at the shambles the room had been tossed into. 

She laughed weakly looking up at him as her body was appeased from the comfort given to her. “It’s a Muggle superstition,” she supplied weakly. 

That was all the explanation the wizard needed before silently rocking and comforting Hermione back to herself. In the beginning his typical method of remaining silent annoyed Hermione, yet as time went on, the silence had grown on the witch. 

Harry knocked on the door softly, glancing at Marcus. The wizard nodded, so Harry smiled, leaving them alone again. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, steadily rising to her feet. Marcus followed suit, holding her hands between his. 

Marcus bowed his head at the gratitude, a little smile growing on his face. His eyes swept over the room, and he opened his mouth to say something when he glanced at the broken shelf Theo had been thrown into. Marcus’ facial expression cooled as he snarled at the reminder of his former friend. 

Hermione tightened her grip on Marcus’ arm in an attempt to lend him strength and started to bite on her bottom lip when her gaze landed again on her ruined bouquet. Theo had done this. What once was admiration and fondness had been twisted into something sick and possessive. Theo tried to ruin this day for her, ruin her future with Marcus, and she wouldn't let him win. 

“Marry me,” she said earnestly, tilting her head up to look at him and hoping he saw the admiration and affection blooming in her eyes.  

Marcus chuckled and pressed a kiss against her temple. He fixed her tiara, waved his wand over her bouquet before handing her the blooms along with her wand from the table; he didn’t say anything as he did it. He didn’t have to. He gave her one more kiss before guiding her out of the room to the altar where the Bonder awaited them. 

In the back of her mind, Hermione wondered how Marcus had come to her aid in the nick of time, so she asked him. 

“Something didn’t feel right,” he answered simply. “I was worried about you, and when I felt that buzzing in my ears I knew something wasn't right.” 

Glancing down at her as they entered the apse, he whispered. “That was the first thing Snape taught his Third Year Slytherins. It was part of the lesson.”

Hermione bit back a grin at the mental image and tucked herself right to his side, her heart filling with love as she saw the way Molly had decorated the Muggle church. 

Murmurs circled through their seated groups of friends as they walked down the aisle together. She noticed all the new couples watching them, by-products of the same law that brought her to this place. The love was evident in their clasped hands and stolen kisses. Even Draco and Astoria were enthralled by the emotion of the day; Draco's arm was draped around her shoulders. Hermione watched the blonde make eye contact with Marcus, a pained expression crossing his face as he nodded in response to the unspoken question

Amid her thoughts, Hermione noticed they weren’t walking anymore. They’d reached the minister. When the man began the ceremony, Hermione felt the butterflies fluttering in her stomach again. Perhaps it was because she was staring into the intense, caring gaze of a man she would soon call her husband. 

Due to the discovery of Theo’s tampering, it could be inferred that she and Marcus weren’t arithmetically compatible. Hermione would scoff and wave them all off because physically and emotionally, they were the perfect equation. The logic could speak for itself. 


End file.
